


Of Hounds and Men

by Northern_Lady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Lady/pseuds/Northern_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the war Sandor is given Clegane Keep and wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hounds and Men

Sandor Clegane would have never returned to Clegane Keep if the new Queen had not ordered him to go there. He had served her well, had fought her battles, managed to steer clear of her fiery fucking dragons, and slain his brother (renamed Robert Strong) all as she asked. And this was how she rewarded him, with lands and titles and a wife. Not just any wife either but his brother’s fourth wife Ysabel Clegane. Sandor had never met the woman. He had met his brother’s first and second wives, or maybe it was the first and third, he wasn’t sure, but he was sure he had never met this one. Gregor’s wives never lasted long, a few years at most. His temper was likely the cause, though Gregor always claimed that his women were weak and sickly and barren. Sandor had seen the bruises himself on Mara, the first wife when Gregor brought her court. She was none of those things and looked to be a few months pregnant. A beating was probably what ended the pregnancy. Or maybe the babe even survived to be born. He hated to think what may have happened to it if it did. Gregor never brought any of his wives to court after Mara, Tywin Lannister had seen to that. 

He brought his dappled destrier Pilgrim (Stranger had died some time ago) to the courtyard to find the household had lined up outside to meet him. They looked nervous and on edge, probably expecting him to start handing out punishments as his brother would have done. Many of the people were the same servants and cooks he had known as a child. Others looked familiar, like younger versions of the people he had known, likely children of those servants. There were some new faces as well. A young Maester, a different Septon, and a brown haired lady with striking blue eyes who could only be Ysabel. She was short, petite, fair skinned and had a lightly freckled cheeks. He guessed that she couldn’t be older than thirty. She stared straight ahead, jaw set firmly, her eyes refusing to meet his, but he couldn’t help but see the tears in her eyes. The woman was likely afraid of him and it made him angry. This whole fucking arrangement made him angry. But he was not his brother and he would not take out his anger on her. 

Sandor dismounted and handed the reins of Pilgrim to a boy nearby. “What’s your name boy?” 

“Hyle Clifton m’lord.” The boy said. 

“You know how to tend a horse?” 

The boy nodded, wide eyed. 

“This is Pilgrim. He doesn’t like anyone to touch his hooves, otherwise he’s as gentle as lamb.” 

“Yes m’lord.” Hyle began leading the horse away and though Sandor bristled at the title he let him go without argument. 

Sandor turned to the rest of the group. They watched him, still anxious. He disliked speeches and formalities but he supposed that in this case it was necessary. “I had not thought to ever return here but it seems our queen had other plans for me. First off, I’ll have you know, I’m not my brother. I’ll not have anyone beaten or killed for any reason. Do your work and don’t cause trouble and you’ll be rewarded for it. If I must, I’ll have you dismissed but no one in this household will be harmed. Secondly, I don’t like fire. Don’t bring fire near me and we’ll get along just fine…. You’ll need to remind me of your names later. For now, you may leave me to speak to Lady Ysabel alone. We’ll gather again before dinner for the ceremony.” 

The household staff whispered among themselves as they dispersed, some going out to the stables, others to the kitchens, and a few to the grounds. 

Lady Ysabel still refused to meet his eyes. He closed some of the distance between them so that he could speak to her easier. She was indeed a small woman, only as tall as his chest. He noticed that she was trembling, probably terrified. He wondered for a moment what sort of a father would give his petite daughter to a brute of a man like Gregor. She probably did not have a good childhood. 

“Will you walk with me, my lady?” He asked, offering his arm. He was on his best behavior and hoped it would help. The little bird would have liked that and perhaps his bride was no different than other noble ladies.

With a trembling hand, she took his arm and walked with him. 

“I know almost nothing about you, not even what house you’re from.” Sandor said after some silence. 

“House Plumm.” She choked out. “My father was Harwyn Plumm.” 

That explained a little. Harwyn was a good warrior but a cold hard man. “How did you come to marry Gregor?” 

“Lord Tywinn proposed the match, my father accepted. I was twenty-three at the time, father thought I had remained unmarried for far too long. I had refused too many matches before, so this time I wasn’t given a choice. But that is often the way of things for daughters.” She said, her voice still shaken. 

“Tis true…” He mused. “And how old are you now?” 

“I will be thirty two name days in a month, my lord.” 

“You needn’t call me Lord. I don’t care for fancy titles. Just Sandor is fine.” He said, still unsure with how to proceed with what he wanted to tell her. 

“If that is what you wish, Sandor.” She conceded. 

“I know without asking that my brother was not kind to you.” He glanced down at her to see her eyes fill with tears at the memory. “He was not kind to me either. He was not kind to anyone. But it is as I said before, I am not my brother. I will not beat you, or strike you, or rape you, or ever harm you as he has done.” 

Ysabel stopped walking. She was biting her lip, tears brimming her eyes. Some instinct made him reach over and gently brush away her tears with his hand and she looked up at him, both surprised and awed by the small kindness. He took his hand away and the pair continued walking. 

The Septon married them that night and the household joined them for a wedding feast. There was no bedding, the couple simply retired to his chambers after dinner. As the door closed behind them, Sandor could see that Ysabel was still afraid of him. He began removing his clothes and then climbed into bed, wearing only his breeches. She stood next to the bed, trembling and fully clothed. 

“Ysabel, I told you I’d not rape you and I meant it. Come to bed. I won’t touch you until you say so.” He told her. 

Still shaking, Ysabel removed her dress and climbed into bed wearing her shift and stockings. She curled up near the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Sandor stayed where he was, stretched out on his back with both arms behind his head. Soon he fell into a sound sleep. 

Sandor was awakened later that night by his wife’s nightmares. 

“No, please no!” She cried in her sleep. “Please don’t...no…” 

It wasn’t hard to guess who tormented her in her nightmares. He reached over and shook her awake by her shoulder. She gasped awake, sitting upright, and took several frightened breathes before beginning to get hold of herself. 

“Are you alright?” Sandor asked her. 

She lay back down and nodded, still shaken. “Thank you.” Ysabel said after a bit of silence. 

“For what?” 

“For waking me from my nightmare.” She said, quietly. 

He grunted, turning away from her to return to sleep. Some minutes later he felt the bed shake with her silent sobs. She probably thought him asleep. Perhaps that was best. Sandor stayed where he was and allowed his bride to cry herself to sleep. 

Sandor took breakfast with Ysabel the next morning. It was a nearly silent affair. After that he spent the greater part of the day meeting the household and learning all the goings on. Ysabel remained silent at dinner and still had nothing to say when they retired to bed for the night. She climbed into bed after he did, wearing a shift but no stockings this time. The shift was lower cut than the one she had worn the previous night. It exsposed multiple scars on her back and shoulders. Ysabel even had scars on her legs. Some were cuts and whip type lines, others were burn marks. The sight filled him with rage, making him want to kill his brother all over again. 

“Did all of that come from my brother?” He asked her before she had managed to cover herself. 

“Some of it.” She admitted, turning to face him. “I am told he gave you scars as well.” 

“Aye, he did. And what of the scars that Gregor didn’t cause? Who gave them to you?” 

“My father.” Ysabel said sadly. 

“Why? Did he have a reason or was he just a cunt?” 

“Father was never a gentle man. He sometimes struck us in fits of temper but unlike Gregor, it always provoked by something. Father at least had a cause, just or not… I was fifteen, Druart the son of our household steward was sixteen… I knew he was lowborn and I loved him anyway...the first time he caught us I begged father to allow us to marry…” Ysabel shed a few silent tears before going on. “He refused of course and he punished us both...Dru got the worst of it...almost a year went by before we were caught a second time… Father took me out past the gardens and the sept and the crypts to the farthest corner of Plumm lands and he whipped me until I passed out from so much bleeding… he said I had shamed our house and our name...I don’t know what he did to Druart but I never saw him alive again… his body arrived at our keep on the same day I was told I was to marry Gregor.”

Sandor did not know what to say to this. There were no words that would comfort her from such a history. “He was a cunt.” 

Ysabel sniffled and nodded in agreement. “Why did Gregor burn you?” 

Sandor shrugged. “I was playing with one of his toys.” 

“He spoke of you sometimes.” She said after a moment. 

“What the fuck could he possibly have to say?” 

“He often bought or won costly weapons. He said he would send them to Sandor someday but he never did. He put them all in the armory and never used them. I got the feeling he was trying to atone for something with his strange collection.” 

Sandor grunted in disbelief. “Maybe he just meant to kill me with them.” 

“Maybe, but the way he called you ‘little brother’ almost seemed like one of his rare moments of sanity. He didn’t have those moments very often.” 

Sandor said nothing. It was strange to think of his brother as anyone other than the hateful evil man he had known him as. It was strange to think of himself as a lord and husband as well. Too many things had changed for his liking. He looked down at his little wife who was nearly asleep next to him. She slept a little nearer this night and no longer facing away. Might be that she would stop fearing him given enough time. 

Ysabel’s nightmares woke Sandor again that night. He shook her awake and she sat upright catching her breath before turning to look at him, worry and questions in her eyes. “You truly won’t harm me?” She asked, hardly daring to believe it. 

“I won’t.” He said firmly. 

“And if someone else wished to harm me?” She asked timidly. 

“I’d kill the bastard.” Sandor told her truthfully. “Or at least cut him up good enough that he’d never try again.” 

A sob escaped her and to his great surprise she threw herself into his arms. The gesture was so unexpected that for a moment he just lay there stiffly not knowing what to do next. Women didn’t ever throw themselves at him, not for sex or for comfort. Then he realized that she was weeping and he should probably hug her. At least he thought that was what lords did when their lady wives were weeping. He wrapped his arms snugly around her petite frame as she shed her tears on his chest. It was a long while before the sobs that wracked her body slowed and her breathing calmed. She was nearly asleep. Her eyes half open. Her dark brown hair lay in a tangle across his shoulder and her face was streaked with tears. He reached toward her to wipe them away but stopped, not wanting to force any unwanted touching on her. She reached for the hand and placed it on her cheek anyway. Minutes later she was asleep. He’d never had a woman sleep in his arms before. It cost extra for whores to stay the night and they’d have charged extra for him personally because they feared him. He’d not known many women who weren’t afraid of him and he’d not known any who would willingly be so close to him. He realized now, that Ysabel had feared him more for his family name than for his scars. She was a pretty little thing, those striking blue eyes, full figure, petite frame… it angered him that his brother had treated her so irreverently and that her father had given her to a Clegane in the first place. Now that she was his, Ysabel would never be harmed again. 

The pair awoke in the morning still embraced. Sandor woke first and debated with himself if he should possibly disturb her sleep by getting up or allow her to be startled by waking up in his arms. In the end he stayed where he was. He liked watching her sleep. He liked the feel of her nearness and he didn’t want to leave. The sigh and small smile that Ysabel gave on waking in his arms surprised him more than her behavior after the nightmare. He moved to let her go and she grabbed his arm. 

“Please don’t go.” She pled. 

Confused, he lay back down and put his arm back around her. Did she plan to stay in bed all day? 

“Will you kiss me, Sandor?” She asked timidly. 

“With this ruined mouth? Are you sure?” He thought she could not possibly mean it. Besides, he knew nothing about how to kiss a woman. 

She didn’t answer him. Instead she kissed him, pulling her body firmly against his. She continued to kiss him for several minutes. While he enjoyed the kiss, he kept waiting for it to end, for Ysabel to realize what she was doing and to pull away horrified. Soon his blood was heating up and his hardness was pressed against her belly. She still didn’t pull away. Instead he felt her hands unlacing his breeches. He broke the kiss. 

“What are you doing woman?” He asked, searching her eyes. 

“I am your wife. You want me and I want you. What do you think I’m doing?” 

She wanted him? Sandor found her words difficult to believe. Then her hands were warmly wrapped around his member and he forgot her words and was only aware of her actions. He took her mouth hungrily again with his own while her hands continued their ministrations. He had a fleeting thought that perhaps Ysabel didn’t really want him, that she did this to keep him from fully taking her but he didn’t even care if that was the case or not. Then somewhere in the midst of all the bliss, she pushed him onto his back, removed her shift, and climbed on top of him, fully naked. He reached for her breasts, then stopped himself. She shifted her hips so he entered her and they both moaned at the sensation. Then Ysabel forced her body still, reached for his hands and placed them on her body. One hand on her breast and the other on her hip. “Sandor.” She took a few ragged breaths before going on. “I want you to touch me. You needn’t hesitate. I am yours now. I want you to take me.” She began to move after that, slowly up and down his length. He made a noise akin to a growl and flipped them over, putting Ysabel underneath him. All hesitation gone, he thrust into her, plunging his manhood as deep as it could go. She moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist, apparently unhurt by his roughness. 

“Oh gods...more… harder…” She groaned. He gaped at her in disbelief. This small woman beneath him was incredible. Here he had been afraid of hurting her and she was asking him for more. He submerged himself into her more wildly and frenzied than before. Her fingernails were digging into his back. She pulled him down so he was fully resting on top of her and began to bite at his neck. He wouldn’t last much longer and evidently neither would she. Ysabel cried out as her walls pulsated and closed around him. He’d never felt a woman come before and the sensation sent him over the edge, spilling his seed inside her with a groan. 

He rested on top of her, both of them catching their breath for a half a minute before he pulled out of her and lay down at her side. He pulled her into his arms without a second thought and searched her eyes curiously. 

“Was I wrong about my brother? Did he do that for you?” Sandor finally asked. 

Her eyes clouded. “Gregor raped me on our wedding night. I was prepared to do my duty. I was no maid after all… but I was afraid and he knew it...I think he liked my being afraid.. had he simply fucked me violently it might not have been so bad… but he told me no crying or he’d blacken both my eyes…he did that… and he broke three ribs and my left arm.” She told him, biting back the tears. 

“Bastard.” Sandor muttered. “And he didn’t let you recover before taking you again, did he?” 

She shook her head no. 

“So it was your man Druart who taught you to make love like that?” He asked. 

“Why? Did you like it?” She said with wicked grin. 

At that, he burst out laughing. Marriage was not supposed to be like this. There had to be a catch, some downside. He got up from the bed and dressed. She did the same. They went their separate ways after breakfast, not seeing one another again until the evening meal.  
Sandor was tired when they finally did retire to bed. He’d helped the men gather hay in the fields all day and it was weary work. His eyes closed almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Ysabel climbed into bed beside him smelling of lavender and rosewater and he found that he wasn’t as ready for sleep as he’d thought. He opened his eyes to find his wife cuddling up next to him, completely unclothed. 

She looked up at him under her long eyelashes and asked, “Will you take me tonight, husband?” 

Sandor could hardly say no to that. Swiftly, his clothes were off and he was on top of her, inside her and she was breathing heavily, calling out his name. He had never understood before, why so many men cared for being lords or for being husbands. He’d thought that perhaps owning land made them feel powerful and superior, just as owning a woman did. Though he might own the land he worked, he did not own this woman beneath him and he knew it. She had given herself to him freely and therein was the great appeal. Being wanted was superior to paying any whore, any day. He slowed down his frenzied rhythm, making an effort to bring her pleasure. His cock slid in and out of her languorously as he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked it. She cried out and bucked her hips against him, trying to speed his movement. 

“Don’t be so fucking greedy.” He whispered against her neck, continuing his slow pace. 

“Oh gods!” Ysabel wrapped her legs around him, pulling him further inside. 

So he gave her what she wanted, gradually moving deeper and faster until both of them were moaning and peaking nearly together. He fell asleep shortly after, Ysabel lay snugly in his arms, and he wondered for just a moment if she would still have nightmares or if she would sleep as peacefully as he knew he would. 

There were no nightmares and in the morning they awoke, still naked and still embraced. Ysabel reached over to Sandor with a small smile and ghosted her fingers over his chest. “What is this scar?” She asked and he told her the story behind it. “And this one?” The greater part of the morning was spent going over his battle scars. When the stories were finished, her hands had ghosted over so much skin that his blood was running hot again. She noticed, and rather than leave him in need, she climbed atop of him and perfected what she had started. 

After dinner that night, Sandor stayed at the table speaking with some of the men and when he arrived in his room he found Ysabel in the bath. Her maid scurried from the room as soon as he entered it. Ysabel stood, sopping wet and reached for her towel. She had more scars than he did but she was still lovely to look at. She turned, wrapped in the towel to find him gazing at her. 

Startled, Ysabel took a step back and nearly fell out of the tub in the process. She caught her hand on the wall behind her and held herself up awkwardly. Sandor crossed the room and scooped her out of the tub, carrying her to the bed. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said as he set her down and sat next to her on the bed. 

“It’s alright. It’s just that for a moment you looked very much like Gregor.” 

“Damn him. He still haunts me, even in death.” 

“In most ways, you look very little like him. It’s only your eyes sometimes…” Ysabel admitted. 

The admission troubled him. Her scars troubled him more. “Tell me of your scars. It’s your turn,” He said. 

She told him of each one. Of where her husband had beat her, cut her, burned her with hot utensils, struck her in a fit of temper, threw her down the stairs, terminated three pregnancies with his violence, and she even showed him the marks on her hands where he had once nailed her to the bed so he could fuck her. 

Sandor’s breathing became ragged as he listened to all this. “I don’t see how you survived all this.” He said, barely concealing his anger. “Gregor killed three women before you and they were taller, stronger. How did you stay alive?” 

Ysabel looked down at her hands. “When father told me that he was giving me to Gregor Clegane, he told me that my new husband would not be kind to me. He told me that Gregor may very well try to kill me. I replied with our house words, Come try me! And father just laughed. He said, you are no Plumm and you will not survive Gregor Clegane but it’s no less than you deserve…after the wedding, there were days when I didn’t want to survive...I wished Gregor would just kill me and get it over with...then one day I decided I would live, if only to spite my father, I was going to live...from then on, I did what I could to pacify Gregor’s rage...to be a dutiful wife...to never cry when he fucked me or struck me...I learned his favorite foods and I learned what he liked in bed and when to stay out of his way...I requested the rest of the household to aid me in redirecting his rage...they did what they could...near the end, before he became Robert Strong, his rage was almost manageable…almost…”

“We should pay your father a visit.” Sandor said after some silence. 

“Why?” She breathed. 

“For spite. He needs to see that he didn’t win and never will.” 

“I don’t want to see him.” Ysabel’s voice was tinged with fear. 

“I won’t let him lay a finger on you. You’ll be safe with me.” He said firmly. 

“What will you say to him?” 

“I don’t know. Usually my sword does the talking.” 

“You can’t kill him. You’d be executed.” 

“I’ll think of something.” He said, standing to remove his clothes for bed. Ysabel pulled a thin shift on over her head and the pair fell asleep soon after, embracing. 

A fortnight later, Sandor and Ysabel had nearly arrived at Plumm Keep. Ysabel was looking forward to seeing her lady mother again. Her anxiety over seeing her father was visible as she dismounted her horse, trembling. The horse was as anxious as she was. On the road he had learned that his wife had a way with animals. She was not one of those highborn ladies who traded in her dresses for a sword or who hated to be bound by courtesy. She was a true lady, but she also knew how to sit a horse, how to calm a dog with a quill in his nose, how to mend a bird’s broken wing, and even Pilgrim allowed her to clean his hooves. It didn’t bother her to get dirty when she was out among the creatures and she had no fear of falling off her horse or being bitten by dogs. She simply understood creatures and they understood her. She concealed her fears about their arrival better than her horse did. The mare bolted and ran, as soon as Ysabel was on the ground. 

One of the men went after the horse and Sandor put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and brought her to the gate. Lady Plumm was happy to see her daughter and held her weeping. Harwyn stood with his arms crossed, jaw set, and watched. 

“Lord Clegane, it was rumored that you died when the wall fell. I was quite surprised to hear that not only did you live but the queen sent you to marry Ysabel.” Harwyn said somberly. 

The mother and daughter had already headed up the path towards the keep. Sandor stayed and spoke with his father in law. “Aye, I didn’t expect to live or to marry either.” 

“Seems to me, if the queen had truly meant to reward you, she might have given you a woman less tarnished.” Harwyn commented. 

The words angered Sandor, but he wanted to give Ysabel time with her mother so now was not the time to speak his mind. All his years with Joffrey had taught him how to use words appropriately when needed. So he simply shrugged a reply. “I’ve no complaints.”  
“I suppose you wouldn’t, being unmarried for so long, I imagine a man reaches a point that any woman will do... but the war would have been lost without you… a wiser queen would give her best warriors a true lady to go home to.” Harwyn said firmly. 

“If Ysabel isn’t a lady, that’s you’re doing.” He said pointedly. 

“True enough. She was always difficult. She preferred the stables and kennels to the castle. The septa did well to teach her needlework and the like. I tried to be firm with her but it did little good. I had hoped your brother would make her see sense.” Harwyn said. They were entering the great hall of the keep. 

“No, you hoped my brother would kill her.” 

Harwyn’s eyes widened at the accusation but he didn’t deny it. 

“She still bears the scars from when you whipped her. She bears many more from Gregor. I can not see why any man would beat his daughter or his wife.” Sandor said angrily. 

“She was shaming herself with a lowborn stable boy.” Harwyn was becoming defensive. “I don’t know why Gregor beat her but what I did was for her own good.” 

“Lots of ladies marry below their station or fail to remain pure. It’s not a crime. She didn’t need to be beaten for it or handed over to the likes of my brother!” 

Harwyn gazed at him with amazement. “I had assumed you to be a hard man. I was wrong.” 

“I am a hard man. That’s why, before you die I’m going to come back here some night, drag you out of your bed, and whip you bloody just as you did to your daughter. Understand?” 

Harwyn laughed a nervous laugh. “Of course you will. Come Clegane, the feast is ready.” 

For her thirty second nameday, Sandor gave Ysabel a horse of her own and after they had gone to bed that night she told him that she was with child. He didn’t know how to be a father. His own father hadn’t been a very good one. But he didn’t know how to be a husband either and so far it had been going remarkably well. Might be that there were happy endings like in the songs after all.


End file.
